


Bedroom Hymns

by GirlDressedInBlack



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29903589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlDressedInBlack/pseuds/GirlDressedInBlack
Summary: The Mistress feels eyes on her the whole day. By the time it ends she is in bed with the Doctor.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10
Collections: The Florence Collection





	Bedroom Hymns

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! The whole point of this fic is as a lead up to Thirteen and Missy having consensual somewhat rough sex (I would say light bdsm, there's biting, choking and making demands) so I'll say when that starts and please don't read it if that could be harmful or uncomfortable to you.

The Mistress isn't sure how it happens but she is in no way disappointed to end up pushed up against the closing door of an empty hotel room with the Doctor's mouth against her neck. It certainly wasn't where she'd intended or thought she'd go with her day but still- she wasn't going to complain.

She'd only managed to sneak into the city-like space-station this morning, really quite exhausted from escaping from yet another jail cell and wondering if, just maybe, it would be okay to actually kill these people who kept getting in her way even though she'd promised the Doctor not to.

The first thing on her list of chores post climbing out of a rather hot and damp maintenance tunnel was to find clothes. That had gone simply enough, taken from the washing lines behind people's houses where they'd left things blowing in the artificial winds. They don't quite fit, grey suit trousers which she has to roll up four times and tie around her waist with a strip torn from a bedsheet (wasn't that person going to get a surprise when it came to the time to take their washing in?) and a somewhat more fitting white blouse, quite off-white really. She takes her hair down, massages some of the form from having been up as it has been for so long, and swipes a cardigan from another line for warmth, putting everything else she was wearing into the pockets of her coat, thankful that despite its ragged state the pockets are still functioning as they should.

It's not in a condition to be worn but she can carry it still.

The second priority is to find some way of getting back to her tardis, wherever that is. She remembers having it at some point recently but everything has seemed a little more chaotic than usual lately and she's lost track. She would try to call the old girl but they'd had an argument over something which would probably mean nothing to anyone else and, truth be told, Missy can't remember herself now.

So from the residential area she walked, passing small convenience stores and teleportation booths which would have taken her straight into the middle of the city if she had the money required here.

She doesn't so as it is she walks, following signs and getting more than a few odd looks from the people who actually live here.

She's aware for quite a while of eyes on her but ignores them, frankly too tired to care and knowing that it's reasonable. After all, who walks anywhere anymore when they aren't planetside?

The Mistress wishes she didn't have to.

Regardless, she makes it into the city, the feeling of eyes on her starting to itch by now.

She manages to shake them for at least half an hour, steals a few people's cards and any physical currency they had in their purses, a stick of gum, about a third of the components for the vortex manipulator and a particularly crunchy snack bar which tastes like the least exciting kind of sawdust.

She eats it, back pressed against the wall of an alley as she considers her next steps, how to secure the more carefully kept parts of a vortex manipulator. The Mistress knows that she'll have to go to a specialist to find them. One who is willing to do under the table trades for a few of the more valuable items she has stored away in her pockets or one who is exceptionally careless.

The preferred way, stealing, is of course more difficult. That doesn't mean that she wants to part with her things though- she went to a lot of effort to obtain them!

It's as she's considering this that she feels eyes on her again and looks around as subtly as she can.

She sees no one but knows that someone is there, looking.

It seems she'll have to start acting more legally.

That or perhaps just ignore them, let them watch as she steals things, she could do with a chase or something like that- a little excitement for what is turning out to be just a very normal day.

* * *

Several hours later she has traded a brooch from the, thankfully, fallen Xarginnian empire for a warp drive and has managed to liberate both a handful of xion crystals from someone who didn't know the value of what they had and a vortex buffer.

It's not the most successful of her hauls but given that she hasn't harmed anyone and she's over half way through gathering the components she needs to make the manipulator she counts it as a win and enough for today.

She's felt those eyes on her too. They don't like her, she can tell. Something about the way they track her and yet the owner remains so elusive.

For fun, because she is quite done with work for the day, she heads into the nearest bar.

It's dingy, crowded, and the dancefloor heaves with different kinds of bodies.

The Mistress takes the opportunity and acquires a few more cards, orders two drinks, asks for them sweet with a bitter after-taste, preferably alcoholic, and the bartender can make up the rest, and locates a table in the dark, shoved into a corner and away from sight from any windows, as grimy as they are. There are no chairs, taken by another table most likely, so she sits on the tabletop, ignoring the way her stolen clothes stick to the surface, and waits, watching the door for her pursuer.

The smell of sweat is overpowered by the sheer sugary smell of the drink as she brings it to her lips and drinks.

It's far less sweet on her tongue, pleasant, with a warmth like honey and cinnamon as it goes down her throat despite the fact there is condensation on the outside of the glass. The bitterness claws at the inside of her mouth and it feels almost dry.

She takes another sip and it does the same.

Clever.

She watches the door for a while, long enough to finish both drinks and order another round. A lot of people come in, some heading straight for tables, the dancefloor, the bar.

There is something suspicious about a blonde who comes through the door though, eyes searching for friends and seeming angry somehow, betrayed.

Her clothes aren't ragged but they look it on her somehow, out of place here.

She isn't a cop, the Mistress can tell that much, but there's something innately dangerous about her.

Missy is already sure that the woman is looking for her and that is confirmed when she squints in her direction and then starts worming her way through the overspilling dancefloor, apparently unconcerned that the Mistress could leave, expecting her not to.

The Time Lady almost considers it as she gets closer and only seems angrier up close. Surely this is a bad idea, even for her?

Whoever this person is they seem out to kill her and string her guts from the rafters of this very pub.

The Mistress tries to diffuse the situation before the woman reaches her, smiling as if she's a friend and holding out the drink she hasn't sipped from.

"For you," she says, welcoming, "after all you've been following me all day I think. I didn't see you until now. Not everyone can do that- you should be proud." Missy congratulates her, tilting her hand in offer just to make it a little more obvious.

She is forced to pull her hands back quite suddenly to avoid spilling anything as the other woman slams her hands down onto the table, either side of Missy's legs, scowling.

The slight gasp which passes through the Time Lady isn't faked. She licks her lips, hearts beating very loudly as she focuses on the woman's face, something familiar in it as she talks at a low volume, furiously.

"You know who I am, don't lie. You probably put something in this drink- trying to get rid of me again? Pathetic. You can do better than that." She hisses in a way which has the Mistress wondering if the alcohol is hitting her or if it's just the proximity, the woman's head barely inches from her own, glaring at her so intensely.

There's no fear within her at this- the Time Lady knows that she wouldn't die to someone like this- but there's a frisson of nerves which passes through her, makes her alert in a strange way.

She brings her arms down, rests the bottom of the glasses on the table, still holding them in case the other woman decided to shake it suddenly in all her chaos. The Mistress frowns.

"I didn't do that. I just got it from the bar. I drank two before you got here, why would I do that if I was planning to poison someone? I don't just carry around poisons willy-nilly. They're very delicate things." she says, confused, "and I don't know you. I don't think so anyway- any chance we've met in my future?" The Time Lady asks, backing away enough that she can take another sip of her drink.

It burns on her tongue and down her throat, settles hot in her stomach.

She wants more.

"Oh, stop it!" The woman takes the drink from her, slams it back down on the table, and grabs the front of her blouse with the other hand, pulling her up and closer to her. The Mistress feels a sudden click of revelation and smiles, gasping a little at the force as she's dragged upwards.

"Don't pretend that you don't know me!" The woman spits, fist clenching in her shirt, anger so much more fascinating now.

"Oh, Doctor," the Time Lady breathes out, "you are so angry this time around, aren't you?" She can't help but smile, hearts beating evermore fast as she inspects the other woman's face.

"Normally I have to do a little more than shoplifting for your attention so why are you here? Are you lost?" Missy asks, almost breathless as she practically purrs at the Time Lady holding her still.

"You aren't normally alone or caught dead in something as ordinary and low-stakes as a satellite city. Whatever are you doing here?" The Mistress asks, back arching just a little more than it needs to.

"I needed to get a replacement part for the tardis." The Doctor says, lowering her just a little as she's distracted from the fact she's meant to be threatening the Mistress for some reason. Something shuts behind her eyes, hard.

"Why are you here?" She asks, lip curling in disgust which only makes the Time Lady want to kiss her more.

"Well- funny story there, we're actually in a similar situation. I happen to have misplaced my tardis. I'm trying to get the pieces to make a vortex manipulator so I can find my way back." The Mistress offers honesty, eyes still fixed on the Doctor's lips, the angry pules she can see in her neck. She doesn't pry for answers she isn't given.

The Doctor seems to look for something in her, Missy doesn't know what. After a second her grip loosens, she relents.

"Fine," she takes the full glass, tips it back.

The Mistress watches the way her throat moves.

The drink disappears and an edge of concern worms its way between Missy's hearts. Her brows furrow and she edges her hand onto the Doctor's, still holding the other glass against the table, just a little, enough to feel that her skin is soft. The hand beneath hers is withdrawn, but only a little. Missy pretends that she'd been going for the glass, takes it, lets the warmth sit in her mouth for a while, swallows.

"Eurgh- what is this? The aftertaste is awful!" The Doctor says, wiping her mouth, tone far more tired than disgusted.

Missy smiles, inspects her own glass.

"I quite like it." She says, smug.

The Doctor holds out her hand and Missy passes her a card without hesitation.

The other Time Lady doesn't inspect it, strides off to the bar.

She comes back with two bottles, thick brown glass, thick brown liquor.

* * *

Sex starts here

* * *

There are teeth on her throat and the Mistress almost cries out as the force, letting her head flop sideways as she bites her lip to keep quiet and giving the Doctor more access to her neck.

The Doctor's hands are hot on her hips, pushing her back against the wood, and she wants them on her skin right now. Her breath is heavy on her neck, teeth so sharp Missy is sure she must be bleeding somehow.

She feels the heat move up her neck, close to the bottom of her ear, the sensation almost costing her the balance she has.

The Doctors hands pin her against the door, hold her there as she is taken apart, breathing heavily, so much noise in her ears, blouse open, marks already blossoming down her neck, across her chest, as she hazily watches the Doctor's head descend her body.

Her head snaps up and it's all that she can do to keep standing, her own hands pressed against the door as she breathes raggedly, wanting the Doctor's touch so badly, thrown so intensely by just the teasing of her tongue. She gasps, swallowing.

The Time Lady manages to look down. The Doctor is watching her face, fingers soft, just almost where Missy wants them.

Her face is intent, hesitant, a question.

"Please." The Mistress breathes out, the word repeating itself unbidden. It feels hot coming out of her mouth.

Then the Doctor smiles, stands, steps back, out of reach.

The Mistress knows the expression on her face and only wants her more for it.

"Well, you'll have to be good and wait then, won't you?" She asks, humour in her tone.

"Of course, anything you want." Missy says, unmoving, her eyes locked on the Doctor's.

She feels like liquid as the Doctor grabs her jaw, kisses her hard, tongue slipping into her mouth tasting of the bottles they had shared and something which is purely her. Teeth play against her lip and the Mistress whimpers as the Doctor bites down just a little harder, enough that she can feel it as she watches the other woman slowly undress, purposefully not keeping eye contact, that smug smile still on her lips while Missy's throb.

The Time Lady's eyes roam the Doctor's new body hungrily.

It's clearly not new to her, worn in the same places where the Doctor always gets worn, softer than she thinks her body was when she was him, not that he had let her see him like this or touch him like she's touching her now.

(Not that she had asked, knowing somehow that he didn't want physical affection in that body)

But now she looks, and does so hungrily, breath catching and head spinning with want as she tries to keep her eyes on the Doctor's, do as she asks.

"Kneel for me." The Doctor asks, pretending it's a demand.

She does it before the words are out of the other woman's mouth, willingly, eagerly. She remembers when she'd last knelt before the Doctor, the cold, unyielding stone and the water, unrippling around them. It catches her for a moment.

The Doctor's hand is gentle under her chin, tilts her head up.

Her eyes are caught with something similar, something unsaid but heavy.

The Doctor kisses her tenderly, as if it's an apology, it means no less when the hand under her chin settles around her throat, squeezing lightly.

The Mistress huffs out, eyelids fluttering for a moment, lips parted as she swallows, feels the Doctor's hand pressed firmly against her neck, safe and yet delicious.

"Look at me." The Doctor says. Missy does, eyes opening and finding hers, so close, dark as the bottles they'd been drinking from. She's choking already but her breath comes ragged with her lips so close that she could kiss them if she dared.

She almost wants to dare, feel the consequences, but she doesn't, instead just drinking in the way the Time Lord's smile quirks.

"Make me feel good." She says, letting go of Missy neck in favour of her hair, pulling her close, between her thighs.

The Mistress thinks of getting caught in the rain, storms on unformed planets, stars exploding and watching the rush of matter scatter outwards from the blast, hot and shining.

None of it compares to the intensity of the feeling she has now, between the other woman's thighs, the way that the Doctor gasps and struggles to speak, to tell her how good she's being, tease her about how much she's enjoying what she's doing and how desperate it makes her look.

She wants, more than anything, to make her feel good.

When the Doctor finally decides that she's done enough, her legs shaking, she pulls the Mistress to the bed with her, breath hot on her skin as she straddles her and kisses her deeply, needfully, tongue at the back of Missy's mouth. She arches her back to meet her, wrapping her arms around the other woman, feeling the sweat against her and not caring as she's gasping again and the Doctor is back to sucking at her neck, marks against her skin again, she catches them in the corner of her eye.

* * *

The two lie together, exhausted.

The Mistress tucks her head into the space between the Doctor's shoulder and chin and the other woman pulls her closer, swallowing and wrapping her arms around her back.

They don't say anything and both of them hope it can last just a little longer, they can stay in the warmth and comfort of each other's bodies just a bit longer.


End file.
